


Dancing my Way into Your Heart

by theoofoof



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Ceilidh, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoofoof/pseuds/theoofoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes are in Scotland with the family and the local village is holding a Ceilidh. Mrs Hughes wishes to attend but has no-one to accompany her. Can Mr Carson help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Ceilidh

Mr Carson was walking through the village on his way back to Duneagle Castle. The family had travelled to Scotland for their yearly visit to his Lordship’s cousins; Lord and Lady Flintshire. This year, he was accompanying them playing the role of valet to Lord Grantham. Unfortunately, Mr Bates was unable to travel with them due to the sudden passing of Anna’s mother two days before they departed. Not wanting Mr Barrow to be his Lordship’s valet for fear of the schemes he might concoct, Mr Carson had offered his own services. He’d explained to Lord Grantham that as the family weren’t going to be in residence, the house wouldn’t miss him too much; Thomas could cope as under-butler, and he’d always wanted to visit Scotland again. His Lordship had readily agreed and Carson had then ventured to suggest that Mrs Hughes accompany them to look after Lady Mary in place of Anna. Again, his suggestion was accepted.

At first Mrs Hughes had been none too happy about his presumptuousness or that she would have to look after Lady Mary, whom she regarded as an ‘uppity minx’, but once Mr Carson had explained his reasoning; that he didn’t want her left to deal with Mr Barrow alone and that he thought she might like to visit her home country again, she had softened somewhat, and thanked him for his kindness. She had admitted that it would be nice to see Scotland again, and perhaps pay a visit the village where she’d grown up if she got a half day. Mr Carson had assured her she would. He decided he would personally see to it that she did.

As he entered the village square, he spotted Mrs Hughes looking at the parish notice board and began to walk in her direction. If she was finished with her errands for Lady Mary, then perhaps they could walk back to the house together. As he neared he noticed that Mrs Hughes was paying particular interest to one poster pinned to the board. One that was advertising a Ceilidh.

“Anything interesting?” he asked, making her jump for she had not registered his approach. “Forgive me Mrs Hughes, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s quite alright Mr Carson; I’m ashamed to admit you caught me woolgathering. This poster caught my eye and I got lost in my memories.”

“What exactly is a c… key… ?” he asked, struggling with the pronunciation. In the end he gestured to the poster that had interested her.

“It’s pronounced ‘Kay-Lee’,” Mrs Hughes told him, fighting back a small smile; it wasn’t often she knew something he didn’t. “It’s a dance. Traditionally it’s more of a Gaelic social gathering; people tell stories, play folk music and sing, but in Scotland there is almost always dancing. And not just any dancing… traditional Scottish dancing.”

“I suppose you attended them quite regularly when you were a young girl in Argyle?”

“Occasionally. If the timing allowed. Farmers are governed by the seasons as I’m sure you are aware. If it wasn’t lambing season or harvest time, we would go, yes.”

She had always loved the local Ceilidh dances when she had been a young girl. She and her sister would watch from the sidelines as the older residents of the village danced the Dashing White Sergeant, the Gay Gordons and Strip the Willow. Their father used to dance with them too; they would stand on his feet and he would carry them around the floor for some of the slower dances.

As they got older they would learn the steps to the dances themselves and once they reached the age of thirteen, their father had allowed them to join in. She had been so jealous of her older sister when she danced her first Ceildh, but she only had two years to wait before hers and she remembered it like it was yesterday.

She’d only danced at two Ceilidh’s in Argyle before she had started her life in service and moved away from Scotland. Since then she’d only been to a handful of them… her sister had one for her wedding reception and there had been another two or three spread throughout her life. How she longed to hear the strains of the upbeat folk music and twirl around the floor, dancing her native dances.

Mr Carson noticed the wistful look in Mrs Hughes’ eyes as they discussed the dance. He looked at the date on the poster and turned to her. “The family are dining at Ronachan House that particular  evening; they won’t return until late. You should have a night off and go; it’s only in the village hall,” he suggested.

“It’s a lovely thought Mr Carson, but I haven’t anyone to go with; there’s no point going to a dance without a partner.”

“If it’s not too improper of me to say, I’m sure you would have plenty of offers once you arrived.”

“I’m not sure about that, although there is a very strong culture in ceilidhs, where anyone can ask anyone to dance. But even if I did ‘have plenty of offers’ I don’t know anyone here… I doubt I would feel comfortable attending on my own.”

She had that sad, wistful look again and Mr Carson found himself willing to do anything to make her smile again. “Would you like me to accompany you?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t want to presume…”

“Nonsense. It would be my pleasure. I can’t claim to have any idea of what Scottish dancing entails apart from reeling, but I am willing to learn.” _For you._

“If you’re sure, then that would be lovely.”

“That’s settled then. Now, would you allow me to walk with you back to the house?”

* * *

Later on, Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson were alone in the Servant’s Hall; the rest of the staff having already retired for the night. They shared a pot of tea and discussed some of how they had spent their day since returning to the house. They had almost drained their cups and Mrs Hughes realised that if she was wanted to speak to Mr Carson about the Ceilidh in some manner of privacy then now was the time.

“I’ve been thinking about this Ceilidh…” she began. “How will it be possible for us both to be out of the house on the same evening?”

“It just so happens that I have been thinking the same thing and I believe I have found a solution. Ronachan House is over an hour’s drive from here at the very least. They will be dining at seven thirty, so the family will want to arrive at seven at the latest, meaning they will need to leave here no later than five thirty. You know as much as I do how much his Lordship hates tardiness so I expect they’ll be leaving closer to five. The ceilidh doesn’t start until seven so we will have plenty of time to get ready. I have every confidence that they will not return before midnight, so we shall be back to attend to them before bed.”

Mr Carson looked quite proud of his solution so Mrs Hughes hated to burst his bubble. “Suppose something happens and they return early?”

“Suppose the car breaks down, suppose there’s a war?” he countered. It felt strange for him to be trying to persuade her to leave the house when it’s not her scheduled half-day. It was normally the other way round; she was the one who often tried to get him to loosen the rules and accept change. Mrs Hughes smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Would you feel better if I spoke with his Lordship? Explained the situation?” Mr Carson offered.

Mrs Hughes shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. His butler and housekeeper attending a dance together, what would he think?”

“You may have a point, although I doubt his Lordship would consider it improper. The Dowager countess however…”

“Well, that’s that then,” Mrs Hughes sighed. “It was a nice thought but I knew that, realistically, it wouldn’t happen.”

“It will happen, Mrs Hughes. Now, I may be a man, but I am not completely insensitive. I saw your face when you were looking at the poster in the village; I know how much you wish to attend. Part of my job as Butler is to ensure the welfare of the staff, including yourself.  You work harder than anyone to make sure Downton runs as it should and, as such, I insist that you have a night off and attend the village Ceilidh.”

“My, my, Mr Carson, that was quite the speech.”

“I speak only the truth Mrs Hughes. So will you attend and allow me to accompany you?”

“It rather seems that I must,” she teased. “Seeing as you insisted upon it mere moments ago.”

“Good. I was worried for a moment I would have to use the seniority of my position and issue a direct order.”

As he expected, she raised an eyebrow at him, and he could see her Scottish temper flaring at his remark. Neither of them were superior to the other and he jolly well knew that.  Luckily for Mr Carson, he was unable to keep up his serious façade for more than a second, before his mask fell and he revealed himself to be reciprocating her teasing. Mrs Hughes shook her head. “You really are a daft man, Mr Carson.” She finished her tea and placed the cup back onto its saucer. “I’m intrigued,” she admitted. “How is it you know how to reel? I don’t really see you as the country dancing type.”  

“I was recruited to assist when her Ladyship was teaching Lady Mary and Lady Edith,” he admitted. “I cannot go so far as to say it was an enjoyable experience but I learnt something new, so I cannot very well complain… I shall need to watch carefully at the Ghillies Ball on Friday to reacquaint myself, but I’m sure I can be relied on not to embarrass you.”

“I was going to suggest that I talk you through some of the more common dances. We can’t rely on their being a caller. Not when we’re this far north.”

“A caller?”

“Someone to talk you through the dances before you start. It is more common practice in larger cities where you may have some non-Scots people in attendance. In a small village like this I would be quite surprised if they felt the need.”

“So you are offering to teach me?”

“Yes, I suppose I am. But not tonight. It had been a long day and I doubt I would be able to keep my eyes open long enough.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“Yes, but I haven’t any idea about where we could go that would afford us the privacy and the time.” They had no offices here, something they both found disconcerting; they were out in the open all of the time and they both felt uncomfortable, especially when Miss O’Brien was within earshot.

“Leave that with me,” he said cryptically.

“As you wish.” She stood from the table. “Good night Mr Carson.”

“Good night Mrs Hughes.” She was almost to the door when he called after her. “Just one more thing… I don’t have to wear a kilt do I?”

Mrs Hughes just smiled enigmatically and retired to her room.


	2. The Gay Gordons

At half past ten the following evening, Mrs Hughes found herself in the smaller of the two ballrooms at Duneagle Castle; the one not being used for the Ghillies Ball. Mr Carson had slipped a note to her as they passed in the corridor just before lunch. It had simply said, ‘Small ballroom. 10.30.’ So there she was, waiting and wondering what on earth she had been thinking suggesting she teach him. When she had made her suggestion the previous evening, she hadn’t intended for this to be a practical demonstration. She clearly remembered saying she would ‘talk’ him through some of the dances. But now she found herself stood in a ballroom. Mr Carson was clearly of the opinion that this tuition would be hands on and who could blame him? Who would offer to teach someone to dance and then just talk them through the steps? No, it had to be a practical lesson, which, the more she thought about it, the more she began to worry. She wasn’t sure that being in such close proximity to Mr Carson in a private space was a very good idea. It was one thing to dance together in a hall full of others when that was the entire purpose of being there. It was most definitely another to be alone and dance. What if she inadvertently revealed something of herself to him; some of the feelings she had for him.

A sound outside drew her away from her thoughts and she turned her attention to the small door at the side of the room, the one the servants used for coming and going at parties and events. He smiled as he approached her. “I am ready for your instruction Mrs Hughes.”

“R…right, well, I thought we’d start with The Gay Gordon’s. It’s one of the simpler couple’s dances.” Her voice broke on the word couples but she recovered quickly. “If you stand behind me…”

He did as she bade him and she moved to stand in front of him, facing the same way as he. “Give me your right hand.” He held out his hand as requested and Mrs Hughes placed it over her right shoulder, taking it in her own right. Once she had secured that position, she took his left hand in hers so they were joined in front.

“The dance starts with all the couples ( _there was that word again!_ ) in a circle. We start on the right foot and take four steps forward.” They moved forward together slowly. “Once we’ve taken four steps, we pivot on the spot and walk backwards for four.”

Mr Carson struggled with the picot; he kept over spinning and getting dizzy. “It may be easier if you focus on a particular spot as we turn, it will help to keep your balance.”

He couldn’t tell her that all he wanted to focus on was her, but she kept moving too. “Perhaps I should just practice this blasted move on my own for a few moments?” he suggested.

She agreed and once he had, eventually, grown accustomed to pivoting by himself, they tried again to pivot together. It had improved slightly as Mr Carson no longer went dizzy, but it didn’t go as smoothly as it could have; they kept bumping into one another. It was a good twenty minutes before it finally started to come together and they could move on.

They started from the beginning, walking forward for four, pivoting and then backwards for four. “Now we repeat exactly what we have just done, except for the fact that we are facing in the opposite direction. She led him through the moves, across the dance floor.

“Now we drop our left hands and raise our right arms above my head.” Mr Carson misunderstood and let go of both her hands as he raised his right arm. She quickly took his right hand back. “No, you keep hold of my right and I pivot underneath.”

“Do I have to…?” He didn’t want to have to pivot any more than was necessary; it was making him feel quite ill.

“No,” she smiled, turning under their arms. “You just stand still.” He was relieved… standing still he could do – he was a butler after all; they were well practised in standing still. “Now we move into a traditional ballroom dance hold facing one another, and polka around the room for eight.”

She closed her eyes as she slipped into his hold, taking long, deep breaths to keep herself calm. She could feel his left hand curled around her right, and the light pressure of his fingers at her back. Their bodies were flush against one another, and she could feel his breath her skin when he spoke. Conscious of their proximity Mrs Hughes pulled away slightly; the hold was meant to be quite loose after all.

“What exactly is a ‘polka’?” he asked in a level voice, hoping she wouldn’t see how holding her close had affected him.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at him. “Would you believe that I’ve never been entirely sure Mr Carson? We just dance around in a sort of circular motion, whilst still moving forwards in the larger circle. Like this.” She led him through the polka dance. “And then we move back into the original hold and start again.”

“So it just repeats?”

Mrs Hughes nodded. “Sometimes the ladies will move forward to the next gentleman just before the polka. It depends on how advanced the dancers are.”

Mr Carson didn’t like the sound of that; he was accompanying Mrs Hughes therefore he wanted to dance with Mrs Hughes. He would have to keep a close eye on the other men at this ceilidh.

They walked through the dance several times, before they decided to call it night, and by the end Mr Carson was becoming quite competent. “Perhaps in our next lesson, we might try it with some music?” he suggested. “There must be a gramophone and some traditional Scottish music somewhere in this house.”

“I shall speak to Mrs Aitken and find out. I can always tell her that being up here is making me rather nostalgic for home.”

“Am I to be worried by how easily you seem to be able to lie, Mrs Hughes?”

She laughed brightly as she exited the ballroom, leaving Mr Carson standing there, a small smile on his face as he watched her go.


	3. The Military Two Step

The next evening, Mr Carson stood in the small ballroom waiting for Mrs Hughes. Lady Grantham had gone up later than his Lordship, too engrossed in her conversation with Lady Flintshire. This meant Mrs Hughes would late for their lesson. As he looked around, admiring the paintings and architecture, his eyes fell on an old gramophone in the corner. He moved to examine it and noticed there were also a few records with it; all Scottish dancing music. Mrs Hughes had managed it; he didn’t know how but she had. He found a record containing the music for both the Reel and the Gay Gordons and set it up on the gramophone.

The music floated through the air and Mr Carson began to tap his feet. After getting a feel for the beat of the music, he began to walk himself through the dances. Most of the Reel came back to him with startling clarity but the Gay Gordons was harder without a partner; without Mrs Hughes to keep him in check. He was still struggling with the pivot, not being able to keep his balance. After several attempts he gave up; sighing in frustration.

Mrs Hughes entered in time to hear his sigh. “Is everything alright, Mr Carson?”

“I… I was practising the Gay Gordons and I’m afraid to say the pivot it still getting the better of me.”

“I saw you,” she admitted; she had stood and watched for a few moments; her chest swelling with pride at the progress he was making. “You were doing well; your steps are becoming much more fluid and-”

“But I still can’t master that pivot!”

“You only started yesterday; I think we can let you off for the moment.”

“Hmmm.”

He wasn’t convinced and Mrs Hughes decided that perhaps they needed a distraction before beginning their lessons. “You are doing well Mr Carson. Perhaps we should have a cup of tea before we embark upon tonight’s dance? It may help us relax a little.”

“You may be right Mrs Hughes. Lead on.”

The two walked back down to the kitchens and Mrs Hughes made them a pot of tea and a found two pieces of Victoria Sponge in the unlocked store cupboard. He raised his eyebrow at her, it was one thing to take from the stores at home, but this was another family’s house.

“Oh hush,” she told him. “It’s not like it will be missed. Besides, I was watching you at dinner; you didn’t have a pudding.”

“Mrs McEwan’s apple tart is nothing on Mrs Patmore’s,” he explained.

“That is true.” She plated up their cakes as he poured the tea. They spoke intimately, not of the goings on at Duneagle or what might be going on back at Downton, but of their childhoods. She told him tales of the farm she’d grown up on, not thirty miles from Duneagle and he shared some stories of his Vaudeville experiences. It was the most personal conversation they had ever had in all the years they had known one another.

Once they had drained their cups, they made their way back to the ballroom, their much needed distraction having done them both the world of good. Mr Carson felt renewed; ready to take on whatever challenging dance Mrs Hughes saw fit to teach him.

Mrs Hughes decided that they should practise the Gay Gordons together, with the music, before embarking on anything new. Mr Carson still had trouble with his pivot, but it had slightly improved. He was doing better than she had expected and he deserved praise for that.

She was unsure about the next dance she had chosen, even though it had been her favourite dance when she was a child. She had loved watching her mother and father dance it whenever they had attended a ceilidh. She had always felt that to dance it properly you had to be deeply in love with the person you were dancing with and, whilst she may acknowledge that what she felt for Mr Carson was more than friendship, she didn’t know if it was love. Even if it was, she had no reason to believe that he would return her feelings. Originally, she’d decided to avoid this dance, but she hadn’t been able to shake the images of teaching it to Mr Carson, of him holding her; his arm around her waist. She’d even dreamt about it the previous two nights. So after an internal argument with herself she had decided to ‘bite the bullet’.

“Tonight, I thought we could try The Military Two Step,” she told him, “if that’s acceptable.”

“I doubt I am knowledgeable enough about Ceilidh dances to have an opinion either way,” he reminded her. “Is there a particular reason you think I may not be agreeable?”

“I… well it… it involves…” she sighed; how could she explain that it was more intimate than either the Reel or the Gay Gordons. She moved to stand beside him. “It may be easier to show you what I mean. I place my right hand on your left shoulder,” she said, positioning herself accordingly. “Now you… you place your hand around my waist.”

Mr Carson’s eyes widened slightly. He now understood what she had been trying to say before. This would put them in closer contact than they had ever been. Both the holds in the Gay Gordons were loose in comparison to this. The Military Two Step would press their bodies against each other in a way that could be considered improper. “I see why you thought I may have found this somewhat inappropriate,” he murmured.

She dropped her hand from his shoulder. “I understand, Mr Carson. We can tackle something else. I’m s-” She was cut off by his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her gently into his side. She looked up at him, surprise evident on her face.

“I didn’t say I _did_ find it inappropriate,” he replied. “It _is_ a dance, Mrs Hughes; one could hardly expect partners to remain at arm’s length.”

Ignoring the feelings that swept over her, she managed a small smile. “No, I suppose not,” she agreed.

“So shall we continue?” he prompted.

She nodded and replaced her hand on his shoulder. “So, we touch the heel of outer foot to ground twice, followed by the tow, also twice,” she instructed. “At the same time we bounce on our inner foot.”

“Bounce?”

“Watch me.” She separated from him and showed him the steps. Seeing it in action made much more sense; he just didn’t know if he could do it. Mrs Hughes thought it best that they stood apart as they practised bouncing, so that she would not get in his way. A look of determined concentration etched on his face, Mr Carson tried his best to follow her instructions and within fifteen minutes, Mrs Hughes declared him good enough to continue with the dance.

“We walk forward for three steps and then turn towards each other to face the opposite direction. Then we repeat the heel, toe and bounce.” They walked it through slowly several times before trying it all from the beginning. Remarkably, Mr Carson managed well, and didn’t fumble the tap and bounce. “Now we face each other and hold hands,” she instructed with a slight blush, as she turned to face him and reached for his hands. “We bounce on both feet and kick our right foot across our body, followed by the left. Not too hard though, I don’t particularly wish to have bruised shins.”

“I shall try my best to restrain myself,” he replied and Mrs Hughes thought she saw a small smirk flicker over his face.

Remarkably, Mr Carson didn’t kick her once. It was hard to say who was more relieved, he for not kicking her, or she for escaping being kicked. As they practised from the start, Mrs Hughes began to smile, clearly enjoying herself. This made Mr Carson’s chest swell with pride. He had helped that smile come to fruition. He thought he’d die a happy man with that knowledge. Although he’d much prefer to live and have her smile at him that way every day.

“Then you raise your left arm and I turn underneath,” she instructed as she tried to turn. She had, however, forgotten that they should drop their other hand, too lost in the feeling of her small hand encased by his larger one. This caused her to become unbalanced and she fall. Luckily, Mr Carson was there to catch her.

“Mrs Hughes, are you quite alright?”

“I’m fine. That was my fault; I forgot to tell you that we needed to drop our other hands.”

He helped steady her on her feet once more and they tried the spin again. This time, they dropped their other hands and Mrs Hughes remained upright.

“The final move, as with the Gay Gordons, is a polka around the room.” They walked through the dance from the beginning several times before finally putting to music. They danced through the steps until the music finished and by the end were both smiling widely and a little breathless.

“I think that’s quite enough for this evening Mr Carson. I find I’m a little tired,” she admitted.

“As am I. Thank you Mrs Hughes, for a most enjoyable evening of tutelage.”

“Thank _you_ for showing such dedication to this. I never imagined practising for a Scottish ceilidh would be high on your list of things to prepare for.”

“To be quite honest, neither did I. But I will say that this is one occasion where I am glad to have been proven wrong.”


	4. Highland Barn Dance

The Ghillies Ball had gone ahead that Friday evening without any problems and both Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes had been sure to watch carefully as the guests danced the Reel, reminding themselves of how it looked when there was more than just the two of the attempting it. Mrs Hughes had also pointed out a couple of other dances that they may encounter at the Ceilidh, but this had only been in passing so he hadn’t had time to question her about them in any detail.

At one point, a familiar tune had reached his ears and he’d realised the band were playing one of the tunes that he and Mrs Hughes had danced to. He’d looked up and found that the music was accompanying a different dance. Seeing the look of confusion on his face, Mrs Hughes had approached him and informed him that the highland music could often be used for several dances. Still, as he’d watched the guests move in almost perfect harmony, he’d not been able to resist tapping his foot lightly in time with the music. It was only when he had noticed Lady Mary glancing at him curiously that he’d become aware of what he’d been doing. And of course he’d stopped abruptly. It would not do to appear unprofessional.

The busy night on Friday and the resultant weariness on Saturday meant Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson postponed their lessons until Sunday evening.

Whilst she was waiting for Mr Carson to arrive, she set up the gramophone and a waltz tune flowed gently through the air. She found herself lost in the melody for a few moments, remembering ceilidhs past, before the sound of a door opening broke into her thoughts. She spied Mr Carson entering out of the corner of her eye and glanced at the clock. It was exactly 11.30pm; he was as prompt as ever.

“This is a lovely tune,” he commented, approaching her and taking her in a ballroom hold and leading her around the room in a waltz.

He turned her smoothly, rotating round an invisible spot on the floor between them. Mrs Hughes tried to focus on where his steps were leading them but found it rather difficult, when she was being held by him. She maintained enough composure however, to keep up with him as he manoeuvred them around the floor. She’d always known he could dance a waltz; he’d opened enough servants’ balls with Her Ladyship in his time, but to experience it with him was an altogether different matter

For his part, Mr Carson was enjoying it too. He didn’t know what had possessed him to act in such a forward manner, but for the moment he couldn’t seem to muster up enough propriety to care, not when he was holding the woman of his desires in his arms.

“Well, that was unexpected,” she gasped as they slowed to a halt and he released her from his arms.

Mr Carson blushed furiously; feeling rather embarrassed now that they had stopped and the reality of their situation dawned on him once more. “I apologise, Mrs Hughes. I don’t know what came over me. I can only conclude that the music must have gotten the better of me. You must know I would never do anything to make you feel uncomf-”

Mrs Hughes held up her hand. “Mr Carson that is quite enough! Had I felt that it was any way improper then you would have known about it, believe me. It was a lovely dance and a perfect way to warm up for this evening’s lesson. And I’ll hear no more about it thank you!”

Suitable chastened, Carson flashed her an apologetic smile. “As you wish, Mrs Hughes. So, what are we tackling this evening?”

“The Highland Barn Dance.” It was usually the first dance of the evening, so there was no guarantee that they’d be there in time to dance it, but the truth was she was running out of couples dances; the other dances were done in larger groups and she would have trouble teaching him those. Yet she didn’t want their lessons to end.

“The couples will line up around the room facing anti-clockwise with the ladies on the right,” she told him, moving to stand beside him. “We hold hands and starting with our outside foot, walk forward for three steps and hop. The secret, Mr Carson, is to take very small, short running steps.”

He did as she instructed and they managed to finish together. “Now we repeat that, but walking backwards.”

They walked backwards and hopped, and Mr Carson narrowly avoided standing on Mrs Hughes’ foot. “Then we skip sideways away from each other for two steps and clap. Like this.” She proceeded to show him, repeating the movement several times, unsure if he’d understood. He watched her intently, but as he did so his mind wandered. The dress she was wearing happened to have a lower neckline that the majority of her others, and he couldn’t help but stare as her breasts bounced ever so slightly as she moved up and down.

Noticing she had stopped, he shook himself out of his daydream and apologised once more. “I apologise. I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there Mrs Hughes. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You seem to be doing an awful lot of apologising lately, particularly when it isn’t in the least bit warranted. We’re friends, Mr Carson or at least I was under the impression that we are… and I don’t believe friends need to apologise for every little thing. I wish you could see that.”

“We are friends Mrs Hughes. In fact I think you’re the only person, at this point in my life, that I can honestly refer to in that way.”

“My, my, that’s quite an honour.”

“I find it difficult you see,” he began to explain. “Not only are you one of the very few people I have ever really thought of as a friend, you are the only friend I have ever had who has been a… a woman. It is sometimes difficult to know how to behave. We don’t even use each other’s Christian names, for goodness sake.”

“Well we shall have to remedy that,” she said decisively.

“W-we shall?”

It was a rare thing to see Mr Carson flustered, and Mrs Hughes could hardly contain her amusement. “Of course we shall… Charles.” His name sounded foreign on her tongue, but far from unpleasant. “Especially if it will aid you in your struggles with the boundaries of our relationship.” She chose her words deliberately; favouring the use of ‘relationship’ over ‘friendship’, hoping that he would read between the lines and see that friendship wasn’t the only thing she wanted from him.

It took him a few seconds to get over his shock at her words but when he did he replied softly, “I think I would like that… Elsie.” He showed no indication of having understood her implied meaning, but their gazes did lock for a few moments. It wasn’t long before Charles’ head for duty brought them back to reality. “But not in front of the staff or the family. We must remain professional in their presence.”

“Of course Charles,” she agreed. “I had no plans to shout it across the servants hall or the dining room.”

“Then it’s settled. Now then Elsie, I believe we were in the middle of a Highland Barn Dance?”

“That we were, Charles.” She ran through the steps with him once more up to the part where they skipped away from each other and then they walked it through slowly. “Good,” she praised as he skipped out competently. “Now face me, that’s it, and we go back into a waltz hold and take two steps to the left.”

“My left or yours?” he queried, not wanting to make a mistake.

“Your left Mr C… I mean, Charles. My, that will take some getting used to,” she admitted, biting her lip to refrain from giggling like a school girl.

He merely smiled at her and they did the steps to his left.

“And right for two,” she instructed. “And then we polka-”

“Around the room?” he guessed, a wry note to his voice. She could contain herself no more and laughed out loud then and collapsed into his arms in a fit of giggles. He, of course, was only too happy to catch her.


	5. Nerves

Over the next five days Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes met every night, in order to perfect the three dances she had been teaching him. He was still having a little trouble with the pivot in the Gay Gordons, but other than that his hard work seemed to have paid off.

The evening of the Ceilidh soon arrived and both were becoming nervous, something that had not gone unnoticed by the other members of staff or the family.

“Are you quite well, Carson?” Lady Mary enquired of him as she passed him looking thoughtful in the corridor. “Only you looked quite away with the fairies.”

“I beg your pardon Milady. It is true that there is something on my mind, but it’s not worth bothering you with,” he replied, not wanting to discuss it. The truth of the matter was that he was feeling incredibly nervous about tonight; fearing he would forget the steps and embarrass Mrs Hughes.

Part of him wanted to cancel the whole arrangement but every time he considered it, he remembered how much Mrs Hu…Elsie (‘Will I ever get used to that?’ he thought) was looking forward to it. He couldn’t imagine being in her position, living so far away from home and not being able to visit very often, so he had decided to do everything in his power to ensure that she enjoyed herself whilst she was here. And he knew that as part of that he would have to accompany her to the Ceilidh; he didn’t think he would be able to bear the look of disappointment on her face if he refused.

“Well, as long as you’re sure,” Lady Mary replied unconvinced. “I am always on hand if you need someone to boost your confidence.”

“All will be well in a couple of days, milady. You’ve no need to worry yourself,” he assured her. As he spoke he realised the truth in his words. He would always be able to count Elsie as a friend, no matter what the outcome of their evening. She had never deserted him before, even when he had acted in the most infuriating ways. She wouldn’t let him down. Now it was his turn to offer her the same courtesy by refusing to entertain any further thoughts of cancelling their arrangements.

* * *

Mrs Hughes wasn’t fairing much better than Mr Carson, having almost scorched her Ladyship’s favourite scarf with a smoothing iron! Her stomach had been churning all day at thought of tonight’s ceilidh. She wasn’t worried about the dancing; she could do that in her sleep.

It had been her wish to spend time with Mr C…Charles (she still wasn’t used to that!) away from work for almost twenty years but now that it was actually happening she found herself quite nervous.

Whatever happened tonight, it would a pivotal moment in both their lives and Elsie was worried about what their relationship would look like in the morning. There was no way she could be satisfied with returning to what they’d had before this trip; she enjoyed sharing wine or tea with him of an evening, but it wouldn’t be enough; not now she knew what it felt like to be held in his arms.

There would be no need to continue his tuition in Scottish dancing after tonight; ceilidhs were hardly a frequent occurrence in Yorkshire. So she was left wondering what they would do and ultimately, whether this whole thing had been a wretched idea in the first place.

There was also the matter of Charles’ feelings for her to consider. It was all very well and good, her trying to devise a way to continue their new found ease and intimacy upon their return to Downton, but there was no guarantee that he would want to. He’d never made any overtures to her before they’d travelled up to Scotland and even then what had he done… he’d merely offered to accompany a friend of more than twenty years to a traditional dance so she could have a long sought-after glimpse of home. It was hardly an unequivocal declaration.

But, on the other hand, the fact that they had become much more familiar with each other gave her hope that he did feel something more than friendship for her. She tried to imagine what Mrs Patmore would say. Probably something along the lines of ‘Well, you know what they say about dancing; it’s a vertical representation of a horizontal desire!’.

Thinking of her friend made her smile (and blush a little) and she decided to push all thoughts of ‘what if’s’ to the back of her mind and enjoy whatever the evening brought.

* * *

After dressing Lady Grantham and seeing her off at the door, Mrs Hughes returned to her Ladyship’s room to organise her night clothes. She was just laying her Ladyship’s robe on the bed when there was a slight knock at the door and Mr Carson slipped in.

“Ah good, I hoped you’d still be up here,” he said in greeting.

“Only for a few more moments. Then I must go and get ready.”

“So you do still want to go then?” he enquired.

“Of course… unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, not at all. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t. And to say I hope you’ll forgive me if I embarrass you terribly this evening.”

Seeing that he was truly nervous, Mrs Hughes approached him and laid her hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “You will be fine, Mr Carson. You’ve practised enough and you’re becoming rather good now.”

“Yes, but we have practised in a rather spacious room where we have been the only occupants. I just don’t want to walk into anybody or knock anyone down.”

“You won’t. I am sure of it,” she assured and then deciding to change the subject slightly asked, “Do any of the staff suspect anything?” They had arranged to leave the house separately this evening, he first, and meet up halfway to the village.

“No, they truly believe I will be going to the local distillery to ascertain if there are any particular Scottish whiskies that His Lordship might wish to sample. Have you laid the foundations for your lie?” he asked, teasingly.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve a thing or two to learn about lying Charles. The secret to a successful deception is not to make too much of it.” He looked a little confused, so she elaborated. “If I had come down for breakfast and made a big spectacle about going for a walk this evening to enjoy the Scottish country air, it would have put Miss O’Brien on full alert. I will only pass comment on my activities if I am asked about them as I pass through the servants’ hall on my way out.”

He nodded. “Ah I think I understand now.”

“I’m pleased. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go and get changed.”

As she was leaving, he called out to her teasingly. “Elsie, I hope you’re aware that, having discovered your penchant for deception, I shall have to ensure that I keep a closer eye on you when we return to Downton?”

Not wanting to be out done, but not daring to look back at him, she fired a slightly risqué response over her shoulder. “I look forward to it Charles!”


	6. Dancing

As they approached the village hall they could see a small crowd gathered outside and heard the strains of the band warming up. The opening few bars of ‘Scotland the Brave’ reached Mrs Hughes’ ears and she beamed. She loved the tune; even though it had only been written at the turn of the century, it had quickly become well known and loved by all Scots, especially expatriate ones. She couldn’t help but quicken her pace as the music called to her, pulling Mr Carson behind her.

He allowed Mrs Hughes to drag him along for a few moments before hurrying along also. He found that her happiness was somewhat infectious. They reached the door of the hall and Mr Carson insisted on paying for their tickets, despite Mrs Hughes’ protestations.

“You don’t have pay for me as well Charles. I am perfectly capable of paying my own way.”

“And I am the man and I wish to pay your admittance. Please. I must warn you, if you continue, I will very likely be offended.”

“Very well, I shall say no more about it,” she agreed, as he led her into the hall, his hand on the small of her back.

He found them a table in the back corner and took her coat, laying it over a chair. When he returned his gaze to her, he allowed himself a few moments to take in her appearance. She was wearing a dark blue dress; its full skirt and fitted, lace-detailed bodice accentuating her figure, while the scooped neckline exposed the creamy skin of her neck and collarbone and hinted at the womanly curves underneath. Draped from her right shoulder and pinned at her waist was a tartan sash. His eyes discreetly raked her from top to bottom and he found himself quite speechless.

“Are you alright Charles?” she asked, noticing the faraway look on his face.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I apologise. I was just admiring your dress. I don’t recall having seen it before, is it new?”

“It is actually,” she replied, wondering just how much attention Mr Carson had been paying to her wardrobe. “I suddenly came to the realisation that I had nothing suitable to wear for this evening. So I travelled to Argyll on my half day; I remembered there was a very nice dress shop and thankfully, it was still there.”

“Well it’s very nice,” he complimented. “You look… lovely.”

“You’re rather dashing yourself,” she returned. He was dressed very smartly in his Sunday suit, but he had made a small concession to her Scottish roots. His tie pin, which from its untarnished appearance, she suspected was new, was adorned with a small thistle; Scotland’s national symbol. “I like the thistle,” she commented.

“I did wonder if you’d notice,” he admitted. “I wanted to show a small mark of respect for your homeland, but I could bring myself to go the whole hog and wear a skirt.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know full well it’s a kilt,” she rebuked playfully.

“I do and, to be honest, I do feel out of place not wearing one now.” He looked around the room and, somewhat unsurprisingly, found himself in a minority of non-kilt wearers.

“Well, you’ll just have to remember that for next time,” she told him as the band struck up a new tune and people began to move onto the dance floor. “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“And it’s a good job too, because I believe one of our dances is playing.” Mrs Hughes listened; he was right, it was the Gay Gordons. “May I have this dance, Elsie?” he asked, offering his hand, his voice barely audible over the sound of the fiddles and drums.

She nodded her reply and placed her hand delicately in his. She couldn’t help but smile as he led her to the dance floor. They joined the other couples and she felt him move behind her and then reach over and take her right hand, holding it over her shoulder before grasping her other hand in front of her.

The band leader began clapping his hands and counted the dance in. The couples on the floor began to move and Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson were in perfect time with them. They took four steps forward and pivoted as they had practised and remarkably, Mr Carson executed a perfect pivot, amazing them both. The moved together in the opposite direction before dropping their hands and raising their right arms over her head, allowing her to turn underneath. When they slipped into the polka hold, Mr Carson held her a little tighter than was really necessary, but neither of them minded.

“You did it,” she praised as they rearranged themselves into the starting hold.

“I still can’t quite believe it,” he whispered from behind, his soft breath skating over her ear.

“I can. I knew you could do it and I’m very proud.”

They didn’t speak for the remainder of the dance, both of them lost in the music and the movements. When the music stopped, Mrs Hughes returned to their table, while Mr Carson fetched them some drinks. He returned with a glass of wine for her and a beer for himself.

“I hope I made the right choice,” he said as he sat back down. “It was wine, beer or some kind of punch labelled only as ‘Ceilidh Warmer’. Heaven knows what’s in it.”

“Then I think you made a wise decision; it wouldn’t do for the acting lady’s maid and head valet to return to the castle intoxicated, would it?”

“It most certainly would not,” he agreed. They barely had time for more than three sips of their drinks before the Highland Barn Dance was announced as the next dance. Charles looked at Elsie, “Shall we?”

“Well, it would be a shame to let all that tuition go to waste,” she replied with a smile. He held out his hand once more and she took it, allowing him to lead her back onto the dance floor.

After the Highland Barn Dance, came the Flying Scotsman, a group dance that Elsie had only been able to talk Charles through. Nevertheless, he decided to give it a try and surprised both himself and Elsie with how quickly he picked up the moves. They danced several dances in a row and were extremely thirsty by the time they stopped.

Returning to their table, Charles noticed Elsie was looking rather flushed. “Are you alright?”

“Just rather warm. I’d forgotten how energetic a Ceilidh could be,” she admitted. “Although, it may have little to do with forgetfulness and more to do with aging. I sometimes find that there are things I cannot do with the same ease that I used to.”

“I’ll agree that age may pose limitations on some things. However, rather like a fine wine, there are certain things that get better with age.” He looked at her pointedly; trying to tell her that he was referring to her, to this new facet of their relationship that they seem to be exploring. He wanted her to know that for him, being with her was like drinking an aged wine; more satisfying, more refreshing, more valuable, more appreciated and more intoxicating than anything that has come before.

She blushed under his gaze and wondered if he was implying what she thought he was. She didn’t say anything, for fear of making a fool out of herself, but cast a glance upward, meeting his eyes with her own.

Mr Carson felt the atmosphere shift and knew that this was it; it was now or never. So he made, what he considered, was rather a bold suggestion. “Would you care to step outside for a moment… for some fresh air?” he asked.


	7. Fresh Air

_Previously…_

_Mr Carson felt the atmosphere shift and knew that this was it; it was now or never. So he made, what he considered, was rather a bold suggestion. “Would you care to step outside for a moment… for some fresh air?” he asked._

* * *

Mrs Hughes held his gaze for several long seconds, her heart still pounding, and not from the excitement and the effort of the dance. She knew as well as her that fresh air wouldn’t just be fresh air. Not tonight, not with them.

“I don’t wish to appear forward; there are bound to be other people taking the air, there will be no scandal…” Mr Carson faltered, taking her silence as a no. “I apologise… it was not my intention to-”

“What have I told you about apologising?” she reminded with a slight shake of her head. “Some fresh air would be very welcome Charles. Shall we?” She smiled up at him, and emboldened by her encouragement, he offered her his arm. Leaving their coats and her bag, they walked towards a door at the back of the hall.

The wind was chilly and the air was brisk as they stepped out onto the village green, but it was a blessed relief after the stuffiness of the dance hall. There were a few more couples outside, as he had assumed there would be, but they were far enough away to be offered some privacy. Faint music drifted through the air and they stood side by side, savouring the moment. It had been a wonderful evening, but it was only one night… who knew when they’d get the chance to spend some time alone together again? Much to her surprise, Mrs Hughes decided that if she could do something to change that; to alter the state of thing, then now was the time to do it. Slowly, she reached for his hand and took it in her own, interlacing her fingers with his.

He looked down at their hands, and then back up to find Elsie looking straight at him. “Elsie, I-” he began.

She wondered briefly if she’d misread the signs and that he didn’t really care for her at all. “I’m sorry Mr Carson I didn’t mean to be so forward.” She began to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t let go.

“Now who’s apologising when there’s no need to? I was just surprised, that is all. I never expected you to… not to say I didn’t hope you did… I’m not explaining myself very well, am I?”

“I have known occasions where you’ve been more eloquent,” she teased, delighting in the way she unnerved him. Surely, he wouldn’t be affected in this way if he didn’t return her feelings?

Mr Carson cleared his throat. “I am glad to hold your hand, Elsie. Very glad indeed.” He took her other hand, turning them so they were facing one another.

 

 

“Do you hear the music?” he whispered.

“I do, although I find myself quite unable to place it. It sounds a little like…”

“Hush,” he said gently.

Slowly, Mr Carson wrapped an arm around her waist bringing her close against his body and with his free hand he took hold of her hand and held it against his chest. In what Mr Carson would still describe as an uncharacteristic gesture far into the future, he kissed the top of her head as he began to move slowly to the rhythm of the music. Mrs Hughes relaxed against him and allowed him to lead her in this mysterious dance full of feeling emotion. They did not talk any further after that, they simply gazed into each other's eyes the whole time they danced; they needed no words.

Their slow circling movement slowed and eventually they found themselves simply swaying together, though still perfectly in time with the music. As the music came to an end so did their dance, but still they stood entwined and lost in the moment, until Mr Carson finally drew back far enough to see her face.

Slowly, he brought his hand to cradle her face. His eyes bored into hers, seeming to look into her very soul. His gaze was longing, desperate, but full of love. He brought his face closer to hers and he whispered against her lips. “Forgive me Elsie but I simply cannot hold back from kissing you any longer.”

She looked trustingly into his eyes, lost in a world where only he existed. “There’s nothing to forgive Charles,” she replied, and leaned in the rest of the way, taking hold of his lapels and ever so gently pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, both still a little unsure of how the other would react. But when neither pulled back, their kiss deepened. They kissed and embraced with the familiarity and contentment of long-time lovers as the highland wind rushed around them.

They pulled apart and he rested his forehead against hers, not wanting to break the contact completely. He looked down at her face, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes bright with love and desire. “Oh Elsie,” he sighed. “I have wanted to kiss you for so long.”

“And I you,” she told him honestly.

“Elsie, we’ve known each other for over twenty years. You know I am not good expressing my feelings. But I would very much like it if you allowed me to court you.”

“I…” She was lost for words. She wanted to say yes, but she knew it wasn’t that simple. Not for two people in their positions. Romantic entanglements were not welcomed for Butlers and Housekeepers. “What will happen when we return to Downton? How can we possibly be together? What will the family say?”

“To be truthful Elsie… I’m finding that I don’t care so much,” he replied, pulling her against him. “Not when I’ve experienced the joy of holding you and kissing you.”

“I’m inclined to agree, but I think we will care very much in the cold light of day when our jobs are on the line.”

Mr Carson sighed. “Yes, I dare say you’re right. Elsie, I can’t claim to know with certainty what will happen, but what I do know is this: we will deal with it as we do with any other event; with dignity and professionalism but most importantly, together.”

And then his lips were upon hers once more, just as tender and achingly gentle as before but still able to make her quiver and send sparks racing through her. She felt his hand at the small of her back, easing her ever closer to him, and she felt herself growing warmer in response. His mouth grew more insistent as he captured her lips, teasing and probing until they were both breathless with desire.

“Elsie,” he began, as he struggled to recover his composure, “it appears that I have opened something of a Pandora’s box. Knowing how you feel in my arms, I fear that I will be unable to keep my feelings to myself.”

“Well then, it’s a good job that you won’t have to, isn’t it?”

“What are you saying?” He was suddenly struck by the terrible thought that she may be leaving; that he may have driven her away…

But then she smiled. “You really can be quite daft sometimes can’t you?”

“You mean, you will allow me to court you?” He couldn’t quite keep the disbelief from his voice.

“Yes. There is nothing I would want more.”

The couple embraced, confirmation of their feelings and their understanding. Mr Carson kissed the top of her head and sighed contentedly, knowing that whatever the future may bring, whatever the family’s reaction, he could deal with it… as long as his Elsie was beside him he could weather any storm.


End file.
